


Patriotic Pride

by FilthyWoman



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-28
Updated: 2013-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:22:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilthyWoman/pseuds/FilthyWoman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America is reminded what it means to be reigned over by England. US/UK Arthur/Alfred <br/>Warnings-Non-con, yaoi, lemon Anal,M/M</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patriotic Pride

_MAIN PAIRING_ : England x Colonial!America (Arthur x Alfred)

 _SETTING:_ Set in 1775 following the Battle of Bunker Hill

........................................................................................................................................................................

 

"Stop Staring!" Arthur mentally scolded to himself as he found his eyes lingering yet again upon the captured blonde that now trailed his entourage's carriage.

Really. The heavy battle losses must have damaged his brain somehow. The British nation was finding it impossible to focus knowing Alfred was so near.

Arthur settled back against his seat and rubbed his shoulder. The bloody thing still ached after his most recent battle in Charlestown. He had nearly broken his arm capturing Bunker hill* from the Americans and the bruises from their skirmish lingered. It was unfortunate that his side had suffered heavy casualties during the battle and many of his best officers paid dearly in blood for their victory.

"Sir. Is something troubling you?" The sound of his general's concerned voice drew Arthur's attention back inside the carriage.

Of course there were lots of things troubling the blonde island nation but he was hardly willing to share the finer points with his subordinates. A blush of embarrassment swept across his face as he reassured the other passengers that everything was in order.

Arthur stole another fleeting glance at Alfred. Though the American was bound at the wrists with rope and covered in his own countryman's blood, he continued to hold his head high with his shoulders back. It was unsettling to Arthur how the American countered the indignity of being his prisoner with the patriotic pride he drew upon in his quest for liberty.

"So the Americans have retreated to Cambridge?" Arthur asked, reconfirming the information his generals were discussing. One of them nodded. With any luck, the British could capitalize on the tactical advantage being in possession of the Massachusetts peninsula provided them. They could readily press onward after the retreating colonial army.

But one leading general of the recent battle stated his reluctance openly to such an effort. Arthur understood the root of the general's objection. His troops suffered terribly and any new action might breed even greater losses.

"STOP!"

A series of gunfire and shouts rattled the British nation as they erupted around him. Arthur turned just in time to see Alfred running towards the woods.

"Bloody hell," the British nation swore, jumping from his seat and ejecting himself from the carriage even before it had come to a halt.

"Stand your ground!" Arthur shouted to his soldiers, tossing his hand out to stop them from their pursuit. He quickly grabbed a rifle from one of them, "I'll handle this."

Arthur rushed after the American. "Stop damn you," he shouted as he closed in on Alfred's position. The rebellious nation ignored him and kept going.

Arthur pressed on even as the distance between him and his men grew further apart. It was to Arthur's advantage that Alfred was still partially bound by the ropes his men had arrested him with. The American couldn't properly free himself from the ropes though he made his best effort to do so. Still it annoyed Arthur that the other blonde had managed to slip away right under his very nose.

Raising his rifle, Arthur took aim and fired a bullet. It zoomed past the left side of Alfred's face. The feel of it grazing past his hair caught the American off guard. It was such a pretentious move from the Brit that it caused Alfred to stumble forward and lose his balance, landing on his knees. It was a fatal mistake for the American. Arthur saw this as a great opportunity to catch up to the younger man. Immediately lowering his weapon, he ran forward to where Alfred had knelt."You cheeky bastard. Did you really expect to get away?" Arthur kicked his foot against Alfred's back to keep him down.

Alfred reared up, knocking Arthur on his ass. The American started to run again in the direction of field clearing that lie at the edge of the woods.

Arthur swept to his feet and resumed the chase. He followed the American across the field to a farmhouse where he managed to overtake him.

Arthur pressed his bayonet against Alfred's spine as the other blonde came to a reluctant halt.

"I guess you caught me again," Alfred stated, "You seem to be doing a lot of that lately, huh?"

"Just shut-up and keep moving." Arthur told him as he coerced the American inside of the nearby barn. "I wouldn't have to go through so much trouble if you weren't such a damn git about your taxes and not wanting to listen me."

Arthur frowned and rebound Alfred's hands together tightly. Alfred fidgeted against the rope and shot a reproachful look at Arthur. "Why can't you just let me be independent?"

Arthur sighed heavily at the question. He looked around the barn for something to bind the American to-perhaps the one of the support beams. It was then that he saw a crappy lopsided chair beside a pile of hay. He pushed Alfred towards the area and then forced him onto the seat.

"You're not ready," Arthur justified, "You're still too young to stand on your own. Look at how disorganized you are. Your new army fought well but it didn't have clear leadership. You need more than a clever plan to make a nation work."

Alfred huffed and drew up his bottom lip.

"I know you don't want to hear it," Arthur said, gathering some rope that hung on the wall and tying the American to the chair, "but it's for your own good."

Arthur could see the frustration seep across the American's features. They'd had the "You need to listen" argument many times before so Arthur knew merely saying it wasn't going to be enough to convince the American.

"Really Alfred. It's not how I want things to be between us at all. You just make this situation so damn hard for me anymore." Arthur explained, tying the final knot exceptionally tight.

"Remember how things used to be?" Arthur reflected as he patted the tightened rope around Alfred's arm, "You used to be such a good lad."

Alfred muttered something under his breath and turned his head away, staring in the direction of the barn door.

"Damn it. Why can't I stop thinking about the past," Arthur once again mentally scolded himself for staring at the American.

"Why do you keep pulling away?" Arthur demanded, twisting his fingers firmly into the American's coat.

"Cause I'm not under your command."

"Do you really think like that? Just to inform you, you're mine and I'm keeping you whether you agree to it or not."

With an iron willed resolve, Arthur pushed hard against the rebellious blonde so he was firmly against the back of the chair, his strong hands bearing down against the American's chest. Alfred struggled a bit but the ropes encompassing his body kept him in place.

The British nation gave him a once over gaze and then crushed his lips harshly against the American's.

How Arthur had missed that mouth. Touching it again after so long brought such comfort to him. This surge of nostalgic gratification made his whole body tremble with longing and remembrance.

Alfred failed to respond to the passion of Arthur's kiss. He refused to yield and his rejection made the moment exasperating. Alfred squirmed in his embrace and spit against his captor's mouth. The saliva dribbled down Arthur's cheek and for a moment, the island nation stared wide-eyed at the American for what he had done.

"You taste like tea," Alfred remarked, "Bet'cha didn't have to pay taxes like I do on it."

Anger slowly crept into Arthur's heart. Though he was a nation, he was also a man and sadly, though he tried to convince himself otherwise, it seemed he really was not beyond escaping his own feelings of outrage and frustration.

Arthur was growing increasingly tired of the petulant brat America had become. He was sick of being railed against for his new taxes in the colonies and the humiliating indignity of being slapped in the face for all the good things he had done for the other nation's sake.

It was apparent at this point that America really was ungrateful and he had made the grave misfortune of continuing to parade around his proud attitude in front of Britain.

If America insisted on being restless and outwardly defiant, Britain's only recourse would have to be to curb that rebellious streak using any means necessary.

So what if their relationship had deteriorated, Arthur wasn't going to back away from reclaiming what clearly belonged to him.

Alfred's behavior gave Arthur the perfect excuse to break him and force the American back into line.

"Hope I tasted good," Alfred pulled on the rope in an effort to escape right in front of the Englishman, his eyes swimming with a funny mix of overconfidence and disdain.

Arthur leaned in, his knees brushing slightly against the seated American's. "Delightful, America," he drawled, removing one of his white cotton gloves as he did so, "You're as naughty as ever, I see. I suppose I shouldn't have expected anything less from you."

"But," Arthur said, cocking his head to the side as he peered down at his prisoner, "it really is getting annoying."

Alfred bit his lip as Arthur settled the ungloved hand against the side of his face. It was evident that the American didn't like being touched by him like that, it was something he was going to have to deal with. Britain had been far too lenient in his dealing with the colonial nation. He could see that truth now. Though he had stepped up his efforts to crush the rebellion in the recent couple of months, he hadn't shown the American exactly why he was one of the most powerful and ruthless nations on the planet.

His hand slid down and ran along the width of Alfred's neck. Arthur smiled as he took his glove and pressed it to the American's lips, "I think it's time I gave you a lesson in gratitude and civility."

Alfred cursed as Arthur tried to thrust the glove into Alfred's mouth. The American put up a fierce fight, reluctant to be silenced by the other nation.

"I want my freedom!," Alfred hissed as Arthur delivered yet another jab to his mouth.

"Oh, I bet you do," Arthur replied, his voice strained and cold. A subsequent blow struck Alfred's teeth and blood readily soiled the British nation's knuckles.

Alfred jerked back in his chair, forcing it to tip. Amused, Arthur gave the chair a little kick to help it the rest of the way. Satisfied at the American's folly, he knelt down beside the upturned chair.

"Now that that is taken care of, we can proceed to your reeducation," Arthur said, towering over the other nation as he drew an ax from the straw-covered floor, "Since this matter will be entirely necessary when your little insurrection is so soundly crushed by me."

Alfred twisted against the back of the chair, rocking it violently along the ground. He tried to force his weight into his legs but his effort to stand was awkward and ultimately unsuccessful.

Arthur lowered his ax and brought it to rest by the American's thigh. "Stop moving about, Alfred. If you cause me any more grief I might accidentally chop of one of your legs off by mistake."

Alfred ignored the other man's advice. He wasn't about to just lie back and take anymore of the British man's superiority. Anyway, Arthur was bluffing. His attempt at bad ass was really half ass. In a matter of truth, the real reason Arthur was so blatantly angry was that Arthur still wanted him. It was the reason they were fighting after all and Alfred could see it, but he wasn't going to let the British nation take another inch.

Alfred was strong enough to hold his own in their early battles even if he did lose recently and now he was going to demonstrate the determination of the American people to England once again.

Arthur frowned at the blonde's insolence. Sedition was the only language the other nation seemed to speak anymore. For every threat Britain imposed, America strived his hardest to challenge them.

Arthur pressed his free hand firmly against Alfred's thigh and held it in place as he chopped one of the legs off the chair. Alfred winced as the wood thumped against the barn's dirt floor. Arthur repeated the action three more times until all the chair legs were gone.

Carelessly, he bent down and knelt between the blonde's thighs. "I've been thinking," Arthur told him, his voice becoming slightly higher, "I rather like you with your mouth shut and your legs open."

With that, the British nation placed his hands on the front of the American's pants. His breath hitched while he decided whether he actually wanted to go further and drive his point into the American in the most effective way he knew how.

Alfred was no longer lying still. He was fighting and the feeling of the other nation writhing beneath him excited Arthur greatly with a surge of power lust.

Yes, it was going to happen, that was evident. Arthur was resolved now. He still yearned for America and he was going to reunite their bodies through force if it couldn't be achieved through peaceful means.

Arthur struck the other nation roughly with his fists until the young man beneath was bloody and bruised. The lull in their fighting gave Arthur a chance to completely strip everything below Alfred's waist.

"There's a good lad," Arthur said pleasantly as he took in the sight of his captive's naked hips. He lowered his head and flicked his tongue playfully against Alfred's asshole.

The American screamed through his gag, throwing his head back.

"Do you like that? I seem to remember you did at one time." Arthur teased, swirling his tongue around the pucker. Alfred fell silent, his resistance becoming less frequent as Arthur's tongue penetrated his rectal cavity.

Arthur took the opportunity to seize Alfred's cock. He roughly started to stroke it, his hand sweeping from tip to balls in a steady rhythm.

"I'm surprised you've gotten bigger than I remember," Arthur mused thoughtfully, "How would you like to try mine on for size."

Alfred kicked him so hard that Arthur landed on his backside a few feet away.

"You're a cheeky son of a bitch," Arthur swore, brushing the hay from his body.

Alfred mumbled loudly against his gag. "What?" Arthur managed, approaching his prisoner.

He pulled the glove quickly from Alfred's mouth, cautious not to get his fingers bitten off in the process.

"I said I bet your dick is still so small I won't even feel it. Never could before."

"Oh really," Arthur returned, his lip curling up in disdain. His hands swept down to unfasten his pants. He'd show that arrogant bastard just how wrong he was. Out in the open, his cock rivaled Alfred's but he'd be hard pressed to say it was just as big. His fingers groped the tip of it and as he exposed it to the other blonde. Alfred let out an exasperated moan.

Arthur rejoined Alfred's bound body on the ground. He menacingly rubbed the length of his cock against the American's ass crack while he continued to stroke the blonde's cock. His dick grew painfully hard as he watched the American's prick gradually doing the same.

Without warning, Arthur entered the American devoid of further preparation. The first few thrusts he made were raw and deep. He looked down at Alfred who was biting back a scream. He knew this was painful and despite the other's brave face, he could tell their intercourse was less than ideal.

"Ah, you feel so good," Arthur admitted, his voice uneven from the fierceness of his thrusts.

Alfred laughed through his tears, dropping his head to the side to avoid making eye contact with his captor. "Can't say the same about you," he said in between pants, "Just like I thought. I can't feel a damn thing."

Arthur slapped him so hard a red hand mark formed almost instantly on his face. "Looks like your quite good at taking it though."

The American scowled at the truth in his words and Arthur took the opportunity to shove into him harder.

He loved that America was still so weak and new. It felt so magnificent to have that troublesome nation lying beneath him in such a subservient position again. He rather liked watching the blonde wince in response to his thrusts and it brought out a sickening sweet pleasure in the pit of his stomach.

"I hope this serves as a reminder of just how vulnerable as a nation you truly are, America," Arthur whispered thickly into the other's chest, "You need me."

"Y-you're wrong," Alfred responded, his voice low and raspy, "I think it's you that needs me."

Arthur's fingernails dug into Alfred's shoulder. He'd never admit aloud just how true that statement was.

He squeezed Alfred's cock, jerking it more avidly than he had before. Alfred reluctantly moaned and for a moment, both men said nothing further to one another. The pleasure of both their bodies was starting to overrun them.

Alfred shut his eyes. Finally, his lips were trembling as his body shook from the full onslaught of Arthur's lust. Reluctantly, he was on the verge of cumming.

Arthur was close too. He could feel the American tensing beneath him and the blonde's cock twitching against his palm.

"Ah," Alfred shuddered begrudgingly, his eyes fluttering. White cum exploded from the tip of his penis and splattered up against Arthur's red uniform jacket.

"Nnnn," Arthur grunted, his own release seizing him far too strongly, "Alfred." His voice huffed the name.

He collapsed against the rebellious nation, completely spent and out of breath. Alfred didn't move either. He let the British nation cover his body, their hearts beating in close proximity to one another.

"I'll never grant you your independence," Arthur whispered, stroking his hand through the American's sweat covered bangs, "I'll fight if I must until you always remember that you want to be with me." And in some diluted sense, that statement couldn't have been more true.

Tears slipped from the American's eyes as the other nation refastened both of their pants. When he had finished, Arthur resettled beside Alfred and wrapped his arm across the American's waist.

While a hazy exhaustion consumed Arthur, Alfred remained silent and awake. He waited for the British man to drift off before shifting away from him with his shoulder.

Carefully, Alfred managed to roll to his feet. Arthur had inadvertently done him a favor by removing the base and legs of the chair. Alfred crept across the floorboards to the opposite side of the room. He paused to listen at the door outside and then pressed against it with all his might.

Thankfully, the sound didn't rouse Arthur. He was far too exhausted from sex and his battle wounds to pay it any mind.

After making it outside, Alfred ran through the field as far and as fast as his stiff and bruised body would take him. Once, despite his better judgment, Alfred paused and looked back at the New England farmhouse where he had left Arthur. Whatever innocence he had prior to entering there, he had lost forever in the wake of the other nation's tyrannical desire for him.

Alfred struggled to free himself from the rope that still bound his body. Soon, he'd taste freedom again. A freedom greater than he and his countrymen had ever known. Arthur may have seized his vital regions by force today but it would only be a matter of time before he drove the British out. This time for good.

As long as Alfred lived, he was certain that he would never forget what it meant to be reigned over by England.

 

****END****

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 ** _Author's note_** :

* The Battle of Bunker Hill is also sometimes referred to the Battle of Breed's Hill since a lot of the fighting took place on Breed's hill. Although the British won this battle and took the peninsula back from the Americans, they suffered tremendous losses. The victory itself is referred to as a Pyrrhic victory. Namely, it is defined as a victory with a devastating cost to the victor. The term carries with it the implication that another such victory would ultimately cause defeat.

***: I wanted it to end it like this but it just couldn't happen - 'The very next day Alfred came back to the barn and burned it down. There was the end of his innocence, blazing in the raging flames.'

Please review/kudos if you liked the fic-


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